The sex lives of plants are much wilder than you think

Plants are all around us and our life on Earth couldn’t exist without them. Yet, we know surprisingly little about this incredibly diverse group. From avocado trees that can swap genders in a matter of hours to plants that can manipulate (and sometimes, even eat) pollinators, the sex life of plants is far more exciting than you’d think.

Sexus Botanicus is a brilliant incursion in this surprisingly rich life. Forget bees and flowers — this book reveals an evolutionary battlefield where orchids masquerade as insects, fungi manipulate roots into love dungeons, and some plants engage in a pollen-dispersal frenzy that makes Las Vegas pool parties look tame.

For centuries, plants have been scandalizing scientists with their crazy sex lives.

Sexus Botanicus

In 1694, when the German naturalist Rudolf Jakob Camerarius demonstrated the existence of reproductive organs in plants, the Catholic Church was scandalized. Botanists couldn’t refer to these organs by using “penis” or “uterus” so they invented other names. When Carl Linnaeus (the “father of modern taxonomy”) described plants, he would refer to flowers as ‘beds’ and stamens and pistils as ‘husbands’ and ‘wives’.

Then, in 1855, when fertilization was demonstrated with algae, the relevant vocabulary didn’t even exist. In fact, when speaking of plants, early scientists didn’t distinguish between pollination (when pollen is deposited on the stigma) and fertilization (when pollen head towards the ovules). Yes, plants (flowering plants) have ovaries and ovules.

Sexus Botanicus, a book written by Joanne Anton, is a lovely exploration of these surprising habits of plants. Some switch genders, others mate with themselves, and a few enlist insect (or even mammal) pimps to get the job done. The book balances high-brow evolutionary theory with juicy gossip from the natural world. It’s as if David Attenborough and RuPaul teamed up for a nature documentary.

Plants have been doing this for a long time

Fossil evidence of plants begins around 3 billion years ago and currently, there are almost 400,000 different species of plants. The vast majority of these (over 90%) are flowering plants, which evolved “only” 250 million years ago. In large part, it’s their sexual superiority that enabled them to take over the planet.

Anton’s exploration is charming. She details how flowering plants moved from wind-based fertilization to intricate, animal-driven partnerships that blur the lines between cooperation and deception. Whether it’s bumblebees romancing tomato plants, yucca and moths engaging in a mutual pollination pact, or orchids tricking insects into unwitting seduction, the plant kingdom is a stage for some of nature’s most ingenious reproductive strategies.

Visually, Sexus Botanicus is also appealing. It features hand-drawn illustrations from Anton herself, bringing these botanical love stories to life. She doesn’t just narrate the quirks of plant reproduction — she makes them feel like high-stakes dramas playing out across millions of years and in every corner of the planet, from lush forests to volcanic wastelands.

Yet beneath the humor, scandal, and beautiful illustrations, Sexus Botanicus has a serious message. Understanding plant reproduction isn’t just a quirky story — it’s about the survival of ecosystems. Plants support the vast majority of ecosystems on Earth with their ability to use the Sun’s light for energy.

Understanding plant reproduction is also important for agriculture and conservation. We’ve more or less mastered the first part because we only use an extremely small minority of plants for agriculture. But when it comes to conservation, we’re miles behind. The book highlights how climate change is disrupting these delicate relationships. If a key pollinator disappears, what happens to orchids? If rising temperatures skew sex ratios in certain plants, will entire species vanish?

Nature’s Creativity

Sexus Botanicus is an important book. It’s a celebration of nature’s creativity, proving that the secret sex lives of plants are far stranger — and more fascinating — than we ever imagined. It reminds us just how important (and diverse) biodiversity is on our planet, and how fragile it all is. It’s a brilliant read I warmly recommend.

I’ll leave you with one of my favorite stories from the book, about a very familiar plant: tomatoes.

“While tomatoes bet on the wind to fertilize them, they also put their money on a helpful insect. The plant’s shimmering yellow flowers act as a marker for a specific visitor: the buff tailed, or large earth bumbleblee (Bombus terrestris). Using the flower’s pollen to feed their larvae, these bees have a distinctive way of collecting the goods and thereby pollinating the plant. The method is called vibratory pollination: the insect holds fast with its legs to the staminate tube and plants its oral appendages there. Bite marks, which take on a brown color, are visible after the fact.

Using its flight muscles, the bumblebee shakes the flower at a rhythm to its liking. The stamens open to expose the stigma and deposit pollen on the visitor’s back. No other insect has the same winning ways with tomatoes. Market gardeners know as much, so they enlist bumblebees to get beautiful tomatoes, raising colonies of the insect for greenhouse crops.”

Buy Sexus Botanicus here.